I Don’t Want to Date Your Fat Friends

I woke up this morning and looked in the mirror, just as most others do before moving onto their daily routine, and do you know what I saw?

"I dunno, something like this?"

“I dunno, something like this?”

A fat guy. He gazed back at me, the mustard stains of yesteryear still staining his bulbous lips, the crumbs of pastries past still trailing down his abnormally large shirt. He stared into my soul and reminded me of what a gelatinous blob I currently am. Yet even after having a Mexican stare-down with this late-Elvis-looking sack of bones, this walking, talking gravy time bomb, we both agreed, telepathically, that we want nothing to do with your fat friend. We don’t want to meet her. We don’t want to hang out with her. We don’t want to fuck her. So please…PLEASE…stop asking.

One too many times, folks, has someone told me, “Oh boy, Charlie, boy oh boy do I have the girl for you! I think you’re really gonna like her!” And ten times out of ten — that’s 100% of the time, in case you’re not an ESPN sports analyst or something — it’s their fat friend. And ten times out of ten — again, 100% — that poor girl has nothing in common with me other than her dangerous love for all things carbohydrate. This, to me, means you and your friends (and possibly my friends) have had a discussion that went something like:

“Charlie’s a great boy, probably one of the best. I want to hook him up with someone.”

“Really? Who? The one with the tattoos and impeccable music taste?”

“No no no, not her.”

“The one who’s really good at movie trivia?”

“Her? No way! Even better.”

“Then who?”


“Wait, who’s she?”

“She’s the, well, she’s the really nice one.”

“Oh yeah! Charlie loves nice girls. They’re his favorite. Let’s do it.”

And then they contacted ol’ Agatha and asked her if she’d like to hang out with this “really sweet guy” named Charlie.

She was SMITTEN by that idea.

She was SMITTEN by the idea.

This is where the problems begin. You see, there are code words being used here that are only present to fill in derogatory comments, like “really sweet guy” standing in for “morbidly obese gentleman,” “great boy” masking “chubby sumbitch,” or the “really nice one” filling in for “hefty girl who won the blue ribbon in 4-H two years in a row.” And you know what, that’s fine. Maybe you really do think I’m a sweet guy. Maybe Agatha really is a very nice person. That’s awesome! Good on ya for being an observant friend on the shallowest level possible. What you do not seem to understand is that not all fat people want to be together. Fat people can have standards. Fat people can have types. Fat people can even desire to date only the sexiest people alive. Holy shit, ain’t that some CNN missing plane level news? Sometimes, two fat people being together just won’t work. Like, physically. Trust me on this one, it wouldn’t be pretty.


See, if you know me, you’ll know I have a thing for women with tattoos and an attitude, women who don’t mind blasting Lamb of God on the way to the store at night, women who can keep up with my fucked up humor and spit out her own. That’s my ideal woman. Even beyond all of that, even with all of those ideal traits pushed aside, I, like everyone else on the planet, have a set of things I look for in a partner. May she be skinny, fat, short, tall, white, black, purple, cyborg, whatever, I look for personality traits before I look at anything else. Trust me, I’m not someone who’s looking to dip my wick in anything with a pulse. When I fall for someone, I fall for how compatible their personality is with my own and how well we’ll get along in all aspects of life. I don’t want to date the Agathas of the world because I may not be interested in them, not because of her weight mind you, but because after learning more about her from other people, I learned she’s a church-going, Bieber-loving horse owner with dreams of good morning texts and lots of princess-like spoiling. Me on the other hand, I like watching a shit ton of foreign horror movies, drinking Jägermeister mixed with Dr. Pepper, and am a bit of a misanthropic, cynical masochist with a penchant for dark humor. If all of that means I’ll be alone forever, then so be it. Don’t expect me to lower the bar just so I can be with a woman. What would Agatha want me for? Oh, right, because we’re both overweight. Do us both a favor and actually learn about us before trying to hook us up. That is unless you want me start hooking you up with other shallow assholes who like to jump to conclusions about their fat friends.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s